Welcome to Women’s History month or as I call it Black HerStory Month
My passion is to tell the oft forgotten stories of Black Women. Like the two Black Women named in the New York Times article I am a Survivor of sexual assault while I served my country. Art is helping me pull my life together and be Victorious not a victim. The Voices of Black Women Will Be Heard! Through our Art, Song, Dance, & Writing!
Sp4 DeBorah Ann Palmer, U.S. Army ~~ November 1977 to November 1981, 569th PSC & 101st Airborne Division!
Yes I’m back. After a much-needed break during which time I gave myself the opportunity to reflect. My blog had taken off in a wrong direction. Basically I was caught up. Lots of frustration. Too many obligations and responsibilities. Trying to juggle this concept of balance and harmony neither of which I achieved. Therefore it was time to let go.
When you fly too close to the Sun like Icarus you burn or in these modern times burn out. A Fucked Up Life = A Fucked Up Blog. I’m not Wonder Woman. The older I get the more I’m willing to admit defeat. More people should pay attention to the expression Beating Your Head against a brick wall. Well I have a bloody head.
Every so often you need to say, “Fuck it All.’ Like in Gone Girl I’m tired of being the Amazing Amy. Sometimes you must walk away from certain aspects of your life. My body does not handle stress well. Finally around the time my laptop died I was having terrible headaches every day. Collapse. Nobody there to help me or pick me up. As always I was and still am on my own. My life had become a fucking circus of putting on acts of well-being. Now I begin to tell the truth of a life filled with failures and flaws. No perfection. No promises. No happy endings. We deserve or think we deserve happiness, peace, joy and prosperity but life does not owe you anything. In this life you get many unexpected “gifts.”
If God/Universe gave out report cards my would be filled with F’s. This is the truth I live with every day. Again I don’t sugarcoat anything. One can never go back. It’s like saying you’re still a Virgin after the hymen has been broken or a baby has passed through your womb. No returns.
I Am Not a Performance. I am Truth.
I don’t like to be typecast or put into a stereotype. That’s why I don’t take to so-called Life Coaches, Life Hacks, Therapists or sellers of happiness snake oils. I don’t do Affirmations or Memes. They are totally lost on me. You don’t need to be a happy person to have Happy Times. I’ve had many Happy Times and will continue to do so. Happiness itself is situational. Just like anyway else who is brave enough to admit it I Love certain aspects of my being, my personality, my looks but their are other secret areas that come to plague me at night. That allow me no sleep. Those are my demons and I welcome they. My demons are my closet companions. Reliable. Always there. Sometimes they even save me for where would they be without me. We are bound to each with an umbilical cord that stretches but never severed. To know me is to see a stubborn mass of contradictions. I’m a paradox wrapped inside an enigma.
Woman Deconstructed Renewed in Partial Forms
It is what it is. I follow my own mind and make my own decisions. I admit to being high strung, nervous, lacking patience and mercurial. Anxiety attacks are my normal.
Temperamental and sometimes ill tempered. Blunt. Straight. No Chaser. I’m not the Replacement Bitch. I AM THE BITCH. B.I.T.C.H. Being in Total Control of Herself.
Basically I wanted to trash this blog totally but I realized I needed the archives being that I lost many of my MS Word documents. Also I needed a break from this writing blog to focus on my Photography Blog Roaming Urban Gypsy. However after increased demand and support from my Subscribers I will once again serve up offerings of poetry, prose and opinion. On My Own Terms.
Bits and pieces of my Life were in the Pawn Shop. Set up life a Museum dedicated to my past. Slowly once located I went back whenever possible to redeem and rescue pieces of my past so I could reassemble it into the future. Remade and Renewed through my own efforts or at times lack of efforts.
When one world dies another is born. And most don’t care unless it affects them directly.
Let me take you on a Phonetic Poetic Photo journey via pictures and Verse.
Black is not something I do. It is who I am.
It is the place I inhabit and that which inhabits me.
Black is the space where ancestral spirits find place within my soul. It’s music inhabits my every thought and deed. From Be-Bop to Hip-Hop it’s all there never to be displaced no matter my current accommodations.
Calling me Journey. Sojourning for Truth. Ain’t I a Woman strong and fierce.
Calling me Traveler for I have inhabited many shores. I strode forth without ever leaving my home.
Home is the place that inhabits me. Every cut corner ragged edge begs to be filled. Silence inhabits uncharted symphonies of mindless cacophonies. Symphonic Blasts inhabit the Universe.
Museum paintings and sculptures inhabit three planes: Past, Present and Future. Transformation begins via viewers lending voices to long forgotten pasts. Silent Interiors speak Volumes but only the selected of the masses can hear its voice.
The butterfly leaps from Chrysalis thrust into Arboreal fields. In tune with Eternal Firefly beings.
Street Urban Art Inhabits dreary dry brutalist streetscapes revamping the atmosphere paying Silent Verbal Homage to fallen heroes kept from whited sepulchral one-sided gallery spaces.
The past inhabits the future while dullards look askance on those not like them. The past inhabits the present whilst clinging to a more hopeful future.
Past and current inhabitants on a collision course with destiny. Destiny inhabits the storm.
The Great Soul inhabits All Souls at birth yet flees from the wicked. Let Grace Abound.
Yes We Inhabit a strange land mystically inhabiting three spheres. Counterclockwise orbits inhabiting galaxies.
A Love Supreme in Search of Me.
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Aunt Carrie ~~ George Gordon’s Sister
This is a Tin Type photo of an unknown unnamed Ancestor
My Grandmother Eva Sophronia Gordon Palmer
My Aunt Thelma Palmer Varner
Me and the Borg at my old office job where I made more money and had a better life.
Espiritu en Fuego/A Fiery Spirit 